I found this while cleaning out some folders the other day. It’s incomplete, but I think it’s meant to stay that way for now.

Home is where the heart is–only a cliché because it’s true. But if it’s true, my heart is a divided country, its borders drawn in love.

Each province is home to a name, or a group of names. I carry them with me to protect them, as though the blood of my heart were both sword and shield that could fight with its beating.


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